The daughter of the dawn

by William Reginald Hodder

“She has the power of spirit-sight,” he said again. “A witch described her to us, and I have been looking for her for years among the Maoris. When I had found her my master came from Mexico, for she could tell us where the gold is hidden—many, many tons of gold—and sparkling stones.”

I was nonplussed. Was it merely a matter of gold after all? I paused and, while I paused, the match went out. As I drew another from my waistcoat pocket I heard a faint movement before me; it was very faint, but I heard it and stepped back. Then as the lucifer fizzed—I remember it was a double-headed one—I saw the negro in the act of springing towards me with arm uplifted and a small pointed thing in his hand. In a flash I saw that he had been shamming so as to take me unawares, that my dart had never struck him at all, that he had a spare one in his hand, that—but the end of this lightning grasp of the situation was finished in the air, and the whole was checked point by point beneath the water, for I had sprung aside into the lake to avoid the possibility of a prick with that poisonous thing. That spring saved me so far, and when I reached the surface, still grasping the reed tube, I realised it was now a level fight in the dark—a weird, subtle, creepy contest to be determined by a mere prick of the skin.

The hissing of the water as it welled up from below, laden with bubbles that burst all about me, made a cover of sound sufficient to conceal my movements from the listening ear of my enemy. Still I made no more noise than was necessary in reaching the margin. But in grasping the rock, which was scarcely a foot above the water, the tube in my hand came in contact with it and made a slight click. Instantly I pushed it back in my armpit, and made my way a yard or two further along, knowing that he must have heard the sound. My next move was to push off a little again and extract two darts from their places. With one I loaded the tube, and the other I retained in my left hand ready for use at close quarters. Then I held the rock with one finger and strained my ears to catch the faintest sound. The ceaseless seething of the water disturbed the silence as little as it lightened the utter darkness, and here in this terrible suspense I recalled a moment, not long since, when my arms had enclosed the form of Crystal not many yards away on the rock. At that time I had felt with a wild thrill of delight that the whole heaven of a world contained only us two, but now the same thing came over me with shudderings, and it was again as if the whole hell of a world held only the thing of evil and myself, both watching in the dark.

Suddenly something touched my finger on the rock. Instantly I threw myself back on the water and, raising the tube to my mouth, puffed a dart at a venture. No sound followed, and I cautiously approached the bank again at a different spot, loading the tube with my spare dart as I went. But a better idea occurred to me. A light would give me a great advantage, for, having the tube, I could fire from a short distance, while my antagonist could only strike at close quarters. I remembered that the smouldering punk was kept near the heap of pinehearts in the recess in the wall; perhaps with care I should be able to get a light before I was seen. Accordingly I struck out across the lake, guessing the direction as nearly as I was able, and finally grasped the rock at a distance which conveyed to me the idea that I had cut off a considerable arc of the lake’s circumference. With great care, and a horrible feeling that at any moment I might feel the prick of the skin which would place me and everything else in the power of the wizard, I raised myself on to the ledge and groped along the wall to find the recess. The vividness with which I could see my surroundings—all except the position of my enemy—in my mental eye, surprised me: yes, the recess should be just here; no, it was not there, and for a moment I grew giddy and lost my bearings. I recalled myself with an effort, and continued my way. Suddenly I stopped, and selecting another dart from the tube, held it at arm’s length before me with one hand, while I felt the wall with the other, and suspended the tube from between my teeth. It seemed hours before I found the recess, and hours more before I crouched, with the punk in one hand and a torch in the other, gently blowing to get a flame; and all that time I endured the most frightful suspense lest the light, carefully as I sheltered it in the furthest corner of the recess, should be seen too soon.

At last the pineheart ignited, and the resinous wood began to hiss and blaze. I held it aloft, and placing the tube ready to my lips, advanced on to the side of the lake. The light fell on the swelling bosom of the water, on the rocky wall above, and on the narrow margin at my feet, but I could not see any enemy at first. Yet I knew I had now the best of the situation, and proceeded boldly round towards the basin. When I had gone some dozen paces I stopped suddenly, for there was the figure of the wizard crouching down on the ledge, with his eyes fixed on the water and his arm upraised as if about to strike. He seemed unconscious of the light, and, as I advanced nearer, remained fixed in the same position. Had the dart I fired before striking across the lake reached its mark, or was this another piece of cunning? I drew still nearer, covering him with the tube, and saw that his frame was rigid, while on his set face there rested a look of the most diabolical hatred.

I was not in a mood to trust to appearances, however, and, to make certain, I puffed another of his own poisoned darts at him. It pierced his shoulder, but he did not move. Then I realised that at last he was at my mercy.

I passed behind him, told him to stand up and follow me, for my voice was the only thing, and he would obey it. He prepared to follow me like a dog.

“Throw away that dart,” I said, pointing to the small thing he still held in his hand.

He did so without any hesitation.

“Now follow.”